


have you ever really wanted to kiss someone, but you can't?

by godmolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes (BBC Radio), johnlock - Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Gay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:51:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10833519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godmolly/pseuds/godmolly
Summary: Fluff, fluff, gallons of the stuff. Johnlock oneshottumblr





	have you ever really wanted to kiss someone, but you can't?

It had been the best day John had had in a while.

The day before, he had gone to the shop and bought his favorite tea. The best way to start any day.

And he went into the office. It was busy, and he was all booked up with appointments. But he felt productive, and had enough free time to go out for lunch.

 

Something about the routine of his day made his smile stick and his steps bounce.

 

And when he got home, Sherlock, instead of his usual sitting and thinking, was at the open window, coaxing a melody out of his violin.

John swore that the music his best friend played was rivaled in beauty only by the player himself, and every time he heard it he seemed to fall a little bit more for Sherlock Holmes.

It was frustrating, of course, being quite in love with someone who seemed to have no interest whatsoever in reciprocating any such feelings. But John made the most out of it — Sherlock wasn’t going anywhere, and just being around him when he wasn’t being irritating was enough.

Something in the air, or about how good a mood he was in just gave John the courage to speak about his feelings.

In the most indirect way he could think of.

He took a deep breath of the air pouring through the window. It smelled sweet, and nothing like the usual London air. Mrs. Hudson had planted flowers outside their window once she decided to take up another hobby.

“Have you ever really wanted to kiss someone, but you can’t?”

Sherlock’s playing slowed and stopped at the question. He whirled around, his dressing gown twirling after him. The light from the window cut a dramatic figure, which, John supposed, was Sherlock for you.

He eventually lowered his violin and bow, not once breaking his and John’s eye contact.

 

“Well,” Sherlock began, his voice a slow, smooth baritone. John held his breath, waiting for what may come out of his mouth next.

“What’s stopping you?”

_Oh, nothing much, just the fact that you’re the person I’m talking about, Sherlock, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re not exactly the most approachable person, especially concerning romance, and it’s quite frustrating that you don’t even seem how goddamn much I’m in love with you and it’s not getting any easier, so you really shouldn’t start about what’s stopping me because you’re the one who’s stopping me._

His eyes bored into John’s and John immediately stopped thinking. It felt as if Sherlock were reading his mind, and John didn’t fancy that being the case.

Sherlock stepped closer, dropping the violin and bow onto the couch.

If John stepped forward as well, they would be mere inches apart.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow the faintest bit, as if it was a challenge. As if he still knew what John was thinking, despite John not thinking anything at all.

 

_What’s stopping you, John?_

Definitely a challenge.

 

Maybe it was the air’s sweet scent, maybe it was his lingering mood, maybe it was the sound of the violin.

But suddenly nothing was stopping him, and he had stepped forward, and he was on his tiptoes, and his hands were pulling Sherlock’s head down towards him, and their lips were pressed together.

Sherlock’s arms slid around his waist, his curls tickling John’s forehead. He had to lean down to achieve the position, but that didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

John’s brain went into overdrive, trying to take in every little detail about the moment, like how warm Sherlock’s lips were against his own and how natural his hands felt where they were and just  _everything_ , and eventually gave in to just stop working for the time that he and Sherlock were intertwined.

And for who knows how long after that.

 

He still wasn’t thinking later on that night, even when somehow their legs had gotten tangled together and Sherlock’s breathing was slow and steady next to his ear and his arms were draped loosely around John’s middle.

Sherlock. Warmth. Sleep. Sherlock.

And John had all of those when his eyes finally closed for the night.

 

~Lucinda

 


End file.
